


The Voice of Your Pain

by AnaGraves



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaGraves/pseuds/AnaGraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illyria always does as she pleases. When she pleases what seems impossible, she makes it possible. And so she pleases they were still alive. Their master, Angel. Her pet, Spike. Her guide and, although she wouldn't admit it, companion, Wesley.<br/>What she pleases, she does.<br/>But can anything be right when you're living in a borrowed time? Can anyhting really be different in a world when the change is constant, but nothing really changes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Certain Stage of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> The story was created thanks to my AtS rewatch and obsession with Wesley/Illyria relationship. It's during the process of being written, so I can't say how it will be as a whole, but I can say it will mostly focus on Wesley and a little less on Illyria (although you can have a totally different observation after the beginning), having a lot of Angel (especially Angel/Wes), quite a big amount of Spike (Spike/Illyria) and Lindsey (Lindsey/Wes/Spike). No slash.  
> It's already a tradition of mine to publish something on my birthday, so here it is. I'm not so sure it should be published now, but a tradition is a tradition.  
> Hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did while I was writing it!  
> (My apologise, I'm terrible at summaries and notes.)

The sounds of the fight echoed in the alley the whole long night. And it was a really long night, the longest one of them all.

Few hours later everything was over.

Silence ringed in her ears as she slowly looked around to check if there was anything else for her to kill.

There was nothing.

Just like there was no one left alive. She was the only survivor.

The air around her reeked of death, blood and decay. She didn't belong to the defeated, but somehow she didn't experience the sense of the victory as well. It was somehow reasonable as winning had never seemed to be the ultimate aim in that fight, not for her. For the first time in her considerably long life she hadn't engaged in a combat to achieve a victory. She had done it to kill the grief that had been unexplainably growing and spreading inside her.

Surprisingly, it didn't help. The grief was still present, strong and stinging. Why did it think it had a right to claim her? She was above it, above all humans' silly emotions. Above grief and sorrow.

But no matter how hard she could try to believe it, the facts were indisputable. She was still feeling grief about the death of her guide and teacher. And now also about the ones who had fought with her, shoulder to shoulder in this stinking alley and died.

She wasn't going to analyze the reasons that stood behind her survival. She was no longer indestructible, that was the fact. But she also was the strongest one of them all. And that's why she survived, possibly.

She wasn't as fragile as the human, who hadn't even lasted as long as to bleed to death, torn to pieces by demons that had surrounded him. She had the better strategy than the leader, who had got himself circled and lost his head in the middle of the night, but never failed to keep his dignity intact. She wasn't willing to get caught in emotions as the pet, whose impulsive rage had been one of the things that had brought him to his end.

She definitely wasn't indestructible now as the liaison had been more than willing to prove. But she survived.

Threading over the bodies of the ones she had killed and the ones she had fought with – although their dismembered remnants and ashes could hardly be called 'bodies' anymore – she left the alley and looked around.

The sun was already high on the sky. She had to narrow her eyes in the confrontation with its bright light. Why was it still burning when its champions were all dead? Didn't it sense the feeling of loss the rest of the world experienced?

Illyria needed some time to become aware of the fact it was not the feeling of loss the _world_ experienced.

It was the feeling of loss _she_ was experiencing.

This world wasn't hers anymore. Humans and half breeds were saying that to her from the moment she had come back to this wretched pile of filth. She finally realized the truth behind those words.

It truly wasn't hers. If it were, the outcome of this night would have been different. She would still have her pet. She would still have her guide. She would still have demons and other creatures to conquer and kill.

But her pet was dead and she didn't have anything for herself. The demons were dead and there was no one else left to kill. And the only element that she could ever consider equal to her in the same time having the sense of possession over him was gone as well.

She was alone.

She couldn't say why she cared. Caring was something human and everything that had a human element in it deserved her utter contempt. But there was no contempt in her heart as she walked the lonely road next to the alley where everything had ended.

There was only grief and additionally an inner feeling something was deeply wrong. Not only in the situation she found herself in, but also with this world in general. Why didn't it stop existing when the one who fought for it, protected it with their lives died tragically? Why nothing had changed when in fact everything had changed?

She didn't understand it. This world was still as distant to her as it had been immediately after her return. She knew the basic rules that regulated it, but she found herself unable to answer the simple question that consisted of a single word: “why?”. Why fight when no one cared about the mentioned fight and the ones who fought it? Why give the life for someone who wouldn't notice the difference?

Sky was still over this world. Sun was still shining. People were still walking the streets, as she discovered it when she left the abandoned alleys and emerged on some more populated corner of the city.

Few minutes later she discovered something else.

Her subconsciousness led her to a place when everything had started. The wolf, the ram and the hart.

The building was still standing in the very same spot, untouched and unchanged by the events of last night. Just like nothing had happened. Just like the last night hadn't had place at all.

She was surprised and angered with every one of those facts. In the days of her glory when the hero had died people had been weeping for a long time, sometimes even sacrificing their lives in order to join their protectors. Humans had been week then, no more than a dust in the wind. But they were still week. Still no more than a dust in the wind, particles that could be vanquished in a matter of seconds, with one wave of a hand. Maybe they had more strength right now. They thought they ruled the world. But they did not. They were still only pawns in the play of forces they didn't understand. They only grew more pathetic, with no respect for their heroes. With no knowledge of their existence, to be more exact.

Looking at the building that stood there just as it always had been, uninvolved in anything that happened, unimpressed with the events of last night, she started to wonder what was the point. Where was the sense in sacrificing the lives that could change something if the deaths meant nothing? They had failed. They all had failed miserably. So-called Senior Partners still ruled this world. Demons and evil prevailed. Nothing had changed.

Change could compose of the slight difference in reality that didn't really matter. Change was constant and could remain unnoticed. But the change she was expecting would be nothing like that. They fought for the significant change that hadn't occurred. The reality remained the same.

She wanted to walk away from it. Forget about the ones she had fought with and finally begin the life she deserved, full of conquer, high priests and temples. Regain the respect she had seemed to lose somewhere between the death and the return to this wretched world. Live the life she had been given, even though it was the life in the human's body, but with followers and believers, using the abilities and powers she was left with to their fullest.

But she couldn't.

There was a feeling, deep down inside her very own being that prevented her from turning away and walking as far as she could from it all. An emotion. She wasn't able to name it, but she could very much feel it, stinging and reeking through her. It sickened her; it made her disgusted with herself. But she couldn't erase it.

The wolf, the ram and the hart building stood right in front of her, laughing at her, all-mighty and powerful. It was infuriating her, making her mad with envy. They had been nothing in her times, merely a vermin, just like humans. The lower beings remained that way while the disgust-worthy cockroaches that now called themselves “lawyers” had risen above the borders of this or any other world, creating an all-powerful empire. It made her sick just to think about it. She wished to change that. She wished to destroy them, their very own basics of existence and watch with pleasure as they burnt, screaming for mercy.

A half self-satisfied smile spread across her lips as she looked at the building that invoked every negative feeling she could ever have for any living or undead creature. She was ready to conquer it and get revenge for what Hamilton did to her, as well as for what Cyvus Veil did to her human. Something called to her, inviting to plunge into the interiors of the beast.

Usually she wasn't the one to deny a battle cry. But this time she had just seen the champions' deaths and she wasn't especially willing to follow them. So she cocked her head and watched the building as it screamed to her very loudly to come inside. She knew they would swallow her and never let her out. She could fight obviously. She could pass away in the flames of glory. But it wasn't this kind of glory she wished to have. If she had to die again, she wouldn't do that alone, with no followers, no one to repeat her name in fear and with respect. She wasn't willing to die quietly.

So she just cast a last glance on the antagonistic building and ignored it, following the stream of the street, wishing to go the way it would lead her.

The way she could forget.

But the thoughts clung stubbornly and didn't want to go away any time soon. She felt uncleaned, contaminated with the feelings she hadn't invited in. But they made themselves at home and didn't want to leave.

Trying to ignore them, she focused on the people passing her by. They looked at her with laughter, fear or anger. They didn't bow, show their respect or at least acknowledge her superiority. Just like inside this annoying four walls she spent the last few months within, they ignored her. Pathetic, one-dimensional creatures without any spark in them dared to pass her without any recognition, whispering to the others of their kind in the voices full of mock and discontent.

It only confirmed the fact this world wasn't hers.

She could continue to live on here pretending she was one of them, playing the game like she had already done it once or twice. Blending in wouldn't be hard. She could be it, the shell. She could be Fred.

But a voluntary participation from both sides was the point of games. She wasn't willing to pretend she was anything less than she truly was. She was Illyria, the great Old One. No one would make her bend to any mortal's wishes. She served only herself. If lower beings were troubled with this – that was their reason to be bothered, not hers.

Besides, living in this world and blending in would mean being like them. Weak. Pathetic. Nothing more than a fleeting life that goes unnoticed by the universe. She would never agree to be only this, an unimportant petal that fades with time.

This part of her reality didn't change. She would have no master above her but her own free will and her free will wasn't going to transform into any shape humans' would want it to turn into. The only human whose wishes she could ever consider was already irreversibly gone.

 _Irreversibly..._ The word stuck in her mind, invoking the wave of intriguing thoughts she immediately followed. What does “irreversibly” meant? Everything was reversible, one way or another. Time depended on point of view. Reality was the matter of perspective.

Everything was reversible.

But why would she care? She did need no people around her. She was all-mighty demon god whose strength was still a considerable power that could help her conquer some parts of this world, if not a whole of it.

She did need no lower beings; her own greatness was enough.

Or wasn't it?

She stopped her march suddenly, in the middle of a street. The sounds of anger, screams and noise from the strange metal vehicles that humans called cars reached her ears. Few men left their shiny shelters and shouted something towards her. She only cocked her head, watching them.

Were they even worth conquering? Tiny mumbling creatures without self-respect, any sense of dignity or purpose in this world. Only those with an aim counted. Only those were worth conquering. And those were heroes.

Who were already dead.

She ignored one man, sending the other to the side of the street with one strike and continued walking. They screamed something behind her. Shallow, unimportant creatures.

This world was empty. Devoid of something, something important. Additionally to this conviction there was also this stubborn feeling of wrongness that didn't wish to go away.

_Reversion._

Except for the time she had spent on adjusting to the body she had taken, she had never had a problem with words. They had come and gone without as much as a thought, but this one was stubborn enough to stay and claim its place inside her mind. It made her question things and relive the last events. See it all again, minute by minute, second by second.

She had an excellent memory.

The conclusion was simple: if it wasn't for the battle with the members of the Circle of the Black Thorn, everything would have gone the different way. She had the most utter conviction the “different way” was the _right way_ to go. That was probably the base of the feeling she had been experiencing since she had left that damned, forsaken alley.

A feeling deep down telling her the world should not remain this way for the simple reason it was never destined to look like that.

What if she could change the outcome? Make the things like they should have been, straighten the paths that had been so badly bent in a way that was everything but proper? _Reverse_ the events.

But she couldn't, could she? She didn't have enough power. Not anymore, at least. She had lost the ability to bend time when the shell she was in could bear her greatness no more, limited by its weaknesses.

Humans were week. They struggled. They lost. They died.

She was nothing like that. She didn't struggle – she fought. She didn't lose – she won. She didn't die – she lived.

But the victory was only hers and no one else's. For the first time in her really long and intense life she wasn't satisfied with the winning. Only because of the fact the victory was empty and meaningless. She hadn't achieved anything. Neither had she protected the ones she had fought with – she didn't know whether she cared about protecting them or not as she wasn't sure of many things now – nor had she gained any power or control over her own fate. The grief wasn't gone as well, creating some strong mental hurt she had never known before. She didn't like it.

What much of a victory it was if it didn't give her anything, even the sense of winning?

Still, she should have never cared for the ones that were so below her on the hierarchy of this world, not to mention mourn them. But as she walked the streets, blinded to the world that surrounded her, she mostly saw the one scene from the last events right in front of her eyes; the scene that had replayed itself in her mind few times already and didn't seem to be willing to stop.

“ _It was good that you came.”_

“ _I killed all mine and I was...”_

“ _Concerned?”_

“ _I think so. But I can't help. You'll be dead within moments.”_

“ _I know.”_

“ _Would you like me to lie to you now?”_

Concerned... Yes, she had been concerned. That's why she had come. And that's why these salt drops that humans were always so willing to shed had started coming from her eyes.

They were tears. She had never known them before.

She had never known many things before she got acquainted with them during that very night. Feelings she wished to expel. Thoughts she didn't want in her mind.

Suddenly she stopped again, this time with her attention focused not on the world around her, but on her own body. Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched her cheek with some prejudice. It was still wet; not from the rain that had been pouring the whole long night, accompanying them throughout the fight, but from the tears that didn't ask for her permission, appearing again out of nowhere. Stubborn intruders she did not invite and would never wish to host them in her eyes if they just needed her affirmation.

But they didn't. As everything else in this world, they did as they pleased without asking for her consent.

She was sick of this body, of this world that wasn't even aware of her presence. If she could, she would leave it without regrets in the blink of an eye. But she couldn't. She could do almost nothing. She couldn't leave. She couldn't change time, not on her own at least. She couldn't bring them back to life. Resurrecting had always been beyond her power, even in the golden ages of her glory, but it had never bothered her until now.

Until now. Now was different for many various reasons from which she could name barely a few and understand even less. One of them was still playing in her head, driving her mad with frustration.

“ _I can't help. You'll be dead within moments.”_

Had it been the ultimate end? No, it wasn't possible, she simply refused to believe it. The world couldn't be as distant from her wishes as it seemed to be. So unwilling to listen to her demands, to satisfy her needs. So... cold.

She turned her head abruptly, infuriated to a degree she could stand no more. The world wasn't like she wanted it to be, that was an undeniable fact. But she wouldn't be herself if she hadn't altered the universes before so they would serve her own purposes. If she wasn't able to leave this one particular pile of filth, she will change it as much as she can, so it would be more of the way she pleased it to be. More of a place she would stand to live in.

She was ready to test this world for its flexibility. An experiment of some kind, as she called it in her mind, just for the sheer aim of making this place more liveable. She had nothing to lose, she could only gain. Those were only selfish reasons, as she told herself.

_Reversion._

That was the most appropriate thing to do: reverse time. But for that she needed power she no longer had. Turning around she closed her eyes and focused on the odors this world reeked of, the unbearable sounds it made, the energy it emanated. The last thing was the only one that held her interest. Every great power came with energy. And she could sense the source of it in any world she was in.

The closest one was the strongest, but she knew all too well what it was: this detestable building that she would destroy in any second with the utter pleasure if she only could. But that was one of many other things she wasn't able to do.

She had to find another source of energy, power she could use. Whether it would be in a form of a wizard who could do a spell for her or condensed might she would be able to devour to bend time herself, it didn't count. She just needed power.

There seemed to be nothing of any use in the nearest distant, but as she managed to silence the unnecessary distractions, a spark from quite afar emerged. Power.

She opened her eyes and without any more thinking followed the direction. The power called her and that was a cry she wasn't going to ignore. Power as she knew it. Power as she craved it. Power as she needed it.

The plan was really simple. Find the source. Possibly absorb the energy or use a donor to fulfill her wishes. Reverse time or bring them back in one way or another.

Simple. And definitely out of the “impossible” field.

 

It was peculiar. The source seemed to contain in a simple, modest house in the suburbs. She cocked her head and looked at it for a moment, analyzing the situation. Everything that possessed some value – which always meant power for her - in this world seemed to belong to the wolf, the ram and the hart. She deeply detested them, so the question appeared: if this source was a part of their game would she be willing to make a deal with them, even though they repelled her so much?

Disdain. Contempt. Repulsion.

Those were just words. This enemy of hers might have been the most unworthy and filthy devil she had ever encountered, but she was no amateur when it came to deals with any kinds of devils. In her times it had been _the_ devil himself that had been coming to her to make an alliance, not the other way around. Now she had to be the side that would make a first step, but somehow she was willing to accept it if it could guarantee her the positive result of her actions.

She didn't mind the cost that could come with her wishes. She had never been the one to pay any price for the desires she had experienced.

This time wasn't supposed to be different.

The door was open. It surprised her. Was it a trap, prepared specifically for her?

She doubted it. The firm had centered all of its strength into the alley, channeling there all energy it possessed. They certainly didn't suspect anyone to come out of the fight alive, either. So she hesitated no more before entering the building.

The interior of the house was just as simple and modest as the exterior. Emptiness crept in the every corner, the air stank with a strange odor of human's sorrow. She was already too soaked with her own grief to be able to stand another one. Fortunately, she knew where to go as the call of power was stronger here, enhancing with every step she was taking.

After finding the living room she stopped in the threshold. It was the place that screamed the loudest.

There was a single man standing next to a window, his back towards her. With a first glance he seemed to be peering through the glass; yet the curtains were drawn and there was nothing to look at except for the crimson red of the material. He didn't move an inch, but spoke to her in a calm voice, acknowledging her presence.

“I knew you would come.”

She tilted her head, looking at the human with curiosity. He was the source of the power that brought her here. She naturally exceeded him greatly with might, but he had magic in him, magic she didn't possess, on the level quite similar to this of Cyvus Veil.

Which meant he was more than capable of fulfilling her wishes.

“I understand you also know why I came,” she said, stepping into the room.

The man finally turned his head and looked at her. He was nothing but an average human; one of those she used to pass every day in the corridors of the building to which she devoted so much of her hatred. An ordinary being that just happened to have power she needed. A wizard.

“I know,” he confirmed in the same manner.

“That's convenient,” she decided, scrutinizing him one more time.

It was odd how in this world even the most unimportant creatures could dare to strive for the might once reserved only for the beings much higher in the hierarchy of universe without burning in the flames of absolute pain in the process. She still didn't like it.

“You wish your heroes to be alive.”

That was not a question, but she answered it nonetheless.

“Yes, that is what I wish.”

She sensed tiredness in the man. Lack of any spark that was contributed to humans, something she called “a will to struggle and live on”. In some way he reminded her of the one she had lost the night before.

“I cannot simply bring them all back to life, you know that.”

Again: not a question. She felt disturbed by the bluntness he addressed her with. She had gotten used to such a treatment from the ones she wished to see again, but not from humans that saw her for the first time in their life and not only weren't acknowledging her superiority, but spoke to her with no sense of respect.

But she wasn't willing to react. Not this time. She needed that human to do what she needed to be done and that was the only reason she was merciful enough to let this insult go without any punishment or even so much as a word of disapproval.

“You have three options.”

She felt slightly confused by the fact the wizard seemed to be prepared for this meeting, but decided it wasn't something she should concern herself with as the sorcerers were often able to see into the future.

“I'm listening,” she said, never keeping her eyes off the human.

“First, the change of time and reality. Angel Investigations never agree to work with Wolfram & Hart. They stay in the Hyperion Hotel and don't get on Senior Partners' nerves. At least not more than they already did.”

The wizard didn't give her time to comment on it. He continued talking, in the same moment starting a march across the room. Her eyes followed his every movement.

“Second, we come back in time just before your last meeting and the assignment of targets. Of course I can't guarantee they won't die in the same way they did tonight.”

Her mind worked quickly, analyzing all the advantages and disadvantages of presented ideas while she waited to hear the last option.

“Third, we go back to the period before Angel took any step towards joining the Circle of the Black Thorn. Again, no guarantee they won't go the same way.”

He stopped talking and walking, sat on the chair next to a round table and looked at her without any interest in his eyes.

She already had her answer. The man apparently already knew that or read it in her eyes, as the only thing he asked was: “Just one last question: are you sure?”

Now she knew the answer to the question she herself had once asked. Finding something worthy might have been the reason enough to live on. Grief definitely was not; sadly, it was almost all she felt in that very moment.

She found something worthy, or rather _someones_. She needed them to eradicate the grief. To have a reason enough to live on.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

 


	2. It's Yesterday Already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter. I truly hate editing, I feel like I’m making mistakes all the time. Remember that I’m not a native, so if you see something I should correct just let me know.   
> Also, I’m writing now sixth chapter and I hope you won’t mind, but the story got more ensamble-based than I predicted. I just love writing about many characters and relationships, not focusing on one or two only.   
> Okay, I’m gonna shut up now. Enjoy!

There had been an era when she could literally slip the time through her fingers like it was a toy she could exploit the way she wished to. Those days were gone now, but the absurdity of the concept still wasn't lost on her. What was time, in fact? The aberration of reality, an answer to a question why things changed that people had created ages ago. It wasn't a real idea, only the name for something elusive. ****

She didn't enjoy being dependent on it.

“Is it done?” she asked the wizard when he opened his eyes.

“Yes, it is.” The man turned his almost lifeless gaze towards her.

“How can I be sure?” She wasn't going to leave anything to chances. She needed to be sure.

The wizard reached for the rectangular object that was lying on the table and switched the talking machine on. People called it television or TV, as she recalled.

Some humans were talking about latest news from around the world. She did find no interest in it, but her eyes caught the date that was visible near the edge of the screen. She had never been eager to memorize such unimportant details, but some knowledge she had gained from Wesley about descriptions of time wasn't lost on her. That's why she knew it was the proper date, from the period she desired to go back to. Some part of her wished to return to an earlier one, but she wasn't going to let the thought of it concern her.

The wizard stood up, walked past her and left the house. He came back before she could start wondering about his peculiar behavior. He tossed a piece of paper onto the table and gestured towards her to have a look. It was a newspaper with the same date that the machine revealed.

“It's today's,” he added, sitting at the table again.

She nodded, convinced. The sheer facts wouldn't satisfy her though; she also felt something was different. Better. Right.

“I am pleased,” she said, watching the man carefully. He simply nodded, without even looking at her. “What you've done can be easily undone.”

She needed to clarify few things for the future to avoid any unexpected surprises.

The man lifted his head and looked at her, his gaze even more empty than before.

“It can be undone, but only by me. Not easily and not that I'd ever be willing to undo it.”

He spoke truthfully, she could sense that. But it didn't change the facts. From now on, having such a devastating power over her, he was a threat. A liability.

“I respect your power and trust your honesty,” she started, sincerity in her voice. She had always valued great power, except for the one represented by the wolf, the ram and the hart. Even though the man in front of her was a vermin like all people there was something about him that made her regard him with considerable attention, grater than the one she was giving to an average human individual. “But I cannot let you have an advantage over me.”

“Trust me, I know,” he answered, no emotions in his voice. “Do what you have to do.”

She cocked her head and looked at him with slightly increased interest. It amazed her that he was so resigned to his fate, fate he somehow had been aware of since the moment she appeared on his threshold. But she couldn't change her mind. Nothing could make her do that.

She didn't like having to do such a thing. She detested similar methods. Creatures who wielded power deserved at least as much as a fight. But this man would give her no fight. And she would not let him ruin what he had just done one day, because of some fleeting caprice humans were so willing to have.

So she didn't hesitate anymore. It wasn't her style of fighting, but it was quick.

The wizard didn't suffer.

And she didn't know why she even cared.

 

The building was again populated with vermin she knew, but she didn't care about the people that passed her in the corridors, not even acknowledging her presence. She wasn't even aware of the fact they didn't notice her, which was a new thing. She had an aim that her mind was strictly focused on. Nothing could stray it from once taken path, especially not this time.

She stopped momentarily in the middle of the hall, looking around just to check for the last time if everything there was just as she remembered, and then continued her quick march, uninterrupted by anyone.

He didn't lift his head as she emerged on his threshold even though she knew he sensed her presence almost immediately. She stood there for some time, watching him carefully. He was really determined to ignore her, but it didn't bother her.

She felt a strange tingle inside her body. What could it be? She vaguely remembered experiencing something alike a long time ago, when she had been conquering new worlds or winning the rivalry with her opponents. Back then she had associated it with happiness, her own kind of it, very far from humans' sensation of the same name – or at least that was what she believed in. Really solemn circumstances had to occur for her to gain it.

Could it be the same emotion now? It seemed impossible that she would experience happiness because some lower being came back to life. It wasn't any solemn circumstance. It was just a simple fact of someone unimportant being alive again.

But she couldn't deny the fact he wasn't unimportant to her.

She also couldn't argue with the conviction that this tingle was really similar to the emotion called happiness. She couldn't relate it to anything else. If she was concerned about his death, she also could enjoy the fact he came back to life. That didn't seem so out of the ordinary, did it?

Everything seemed out of the ordinary when it came to the ancient god-king feeling joy because a human that was supposed to be dead was now alive again.

It wasn't normal and should have invoked concern in her. But somehow, it didn't.

She wanted to reveal the truth right now, right in this very spot and this very moment, but when she opened her mouth her airways did allow no sound to pass through. Her throat was tight. And this time it wasn't the unfamiliar body that betrayed her.

It was her mind.

She saw him die all over again in her very own arms. She looked at him, sitting alive at his desk, busy with his normal job or pretending to be busy so he wouldn't have to look at her or even acknowledge her being there and every few seconds this image was blurred and mixed with the other one from the night before. It was dreadful. It was nothing like she had ever experienced.

She didn't like it. She wanted it gone. She wished the picture out of her mind as she didn't want him to die all over again.

That was the point, as she suddenly realized: it wasn't about the vision of him dying the night before. She didn't wish to see it - that much was obvious - but what she didn't want far more was for him to dieagain. She had a suspicion the knowledge of his death wouldn't help to prevent it from happening once more. Somehow that seemed like the reason enough for hiding the truth.

This conclusion surprised her. Why would she want to keep it a lie? Why would she want to hide from them, from him, what truly happened if that could help them realize what they should avoid assuming they had the slightest wish to keep their lives unharmed?

She hated lies. Except for the one deception she had made recently, she detested everything that was not truth. Why would she ever hide the reality between the illusion if it repulsed her so much?

Because she knew the moment of truth would ruin everything, being the moment of decision they would go the same road. Exactly the same, dying in the same gloomy alley fighting against the same lethal enemy.

Because they didn't have even the slightest wish to keep their lives unharmed.

Suddenly, her mouth allowed her to speak. It wasn't her usual firm tone, but a confused one.

She felt confused. She needed to say something, to at least acknowledge the simple magic that had just happened before her very own eyes, even though he wouldn't know what she meant.

“You are alive. Good.”

The words seemed unprepared, simply raw and in her own ears full of emotions she didn't want to reveal. Even though in reality they were not like she registered them, they still let some of her confusion slip through them.

He finally lifted his head and looked at her with a frown.

“Last time I checked I seemed to be alive, yes,” he said, watching her. She didn't want to feel his eyes on her; her own gaze started roaming the floor of his office. She couldn't stand to look at him as she still saw this one grievous scene playing before her eyes. She needed to get away. “Did something...” he stopped, looked at her more carefully and continued in a different, more distant tone, “...did you do something? Change time, for example?”

She cast him a brief look. He was referring to the moment when she killed them all and then the time changed; but she couldn't stop thinking about the deed she had done just moments before.

“No.” The lie just came through, as simply as the previous words had done it. She wouldn't be able to stop it even if she wished to. “I lost that power. I've only grown confused,” she specified, satisfied that puzzlement vanished from her voice.

“With what exactly?” He was still looking at her, but he was as distant as he could only be. He didn't want her here and she knew that.

She didn't want herself here either.

“It doesn't matter,” she answered coldly, looking him straight in the eyes, then turned on her heels and walked away.

She decided she would consider everything Wesley-related later. She had to talk with their champion first.

About everything.

Because that was the thing she just needed to do. That was the only way to stop them from going their self-destruction path. To keep them alive.

 

***

 

“We need to talk,” Illyria exclaimed after passing the vampire's blond secretary without as much as a glance.

Angel was talking on a telephone when she entered his office. He seemed busy, but she obviously didn't care.

“In a moment,” he mumbled, still trying to continue his conversation.

“This is not a matter of _in a moment_. It is a matter of _now_.”

She shut the door behind her and approached his desk. Angel sighed, said few words to the person on the other end of the line and terminated the call. Then he leaned against the back of his chair and looked at her impatiently.

“You'll never learn it's rude to interrupt people in the middle of something, won't you?”

“Every warrior needs to listen to those who possess more strength. To their masters. Without time...” she stopped, hesitated and then continued. “...games.”

“That's what you consider yourself? My master?” Angel frowned, straightening on his chair. She seemed strangely confused for a few thousands year old god who truly was above almost everyone else.

“I possess more strength. Therefore I am a master,” she answered mechanically, all of her attention focused on the date that was written on one of the documents that covered Angel's desk.

His frown deepened as he looked at her more carefully.

“What's going on, Illyria?” he asked straightly, waiting for her reaction.

She lifted her head and looked at him. This time she seemed to revert to the normal, cold and icy condition.

“I found a wizard who reversed time for me,” she answered calmly, without any visible emotions.

The pen Angel was holding in his hand made a crashing sound.

“What?” He blinked, his mind full of thoughts. Part of him hoped the Old One just learned how to make jokes, but he knew something like that couldn't have happened. She had always been utterly serious and bluntly honest. This time was surely no exception.

“I changed time,” she repeated in the same tone. “You all died in a battle with the wolf, the ram and the hart's allies. I didn't wish to continue my existence in such a reality.”

Angel stared at her wordlessly while she returned his gaze, observing his reaction with slight trace of curiosity. He needed to process it somehow, but his brain seemed stuck. She changed time. Turned it back, because they all died.

He didn't know what moved him more: the fact of reversing time or the harsh truth that stood behind the simple words she said, y _ou all died_. He had no idea what could have happened in that future that was, but he strongly suspected it had something to do with a plan that he had been in the process of creating for the last few days. The plan was suicidal, so he shouldn't haven been surprised by the news they all had died because of it. But still, it was hard to process. He didn't have problem with the fact his own death happened; it were the deaths of others that bothered him. Wes. Gunn. Maybe Lorne. Even Spike.

They all died. And Illyria brought them back.

He needed time to digest it. Still, any time wouldn't be enough when he was dealing with a _time_ change. Any time wouldn't be enough to deal with the deaths of everyone he ever held dear, deaths that happened just to be undone. He didn't like the pain that suddenly appeared. He didn't like anything about this situation, anything at all.

 _To hell with it_ , he thought after a moment. The best way to suppress the pain and the strong suspicion he was responsible for whatever had happened was to transfer his attention into different emotions he was experiencing. And that was rage.

“You changed time,” he repeated slowly, gathering thoughts that were scattered through different places, channeling plenty of contradicting emotions. “Because we all died.”

“Yes. I didn't know vampires can have trouble with hearing,” she answered.

“Right.” He currently wasn't able to express anything else. Managing to quieten most of the subjective emotions, he focused on the anger. Rage coming from the fact she had done something like this just because she had wanted it, just because she had been able to do it. She thought she could do anything in this or any other dimension if she only pleased it. But she couldn't and he needed her to understand it. She had no right changing the outcome of whatever had happened. If they had died fighting the good fight it was the fate they had chosen. It was the fate they deserved.

They definitely didn't deserve a right to die a noble death being taken away from them.

“You like changes, don't you?” Illyria seemed to follow the stream of his thoughts. “Or only the ones you are in control of?” He didn't answer, looking at her grimly. “Or maybe only the ones that please you?”

Those weren't the right questions though. It wasn't the problem of consent or control, or to be more specific the lack of both. Everything was the problem here. She was the problem. Reality changes were the problems.

Well, maybe in some small part it was about the lack of consent and control, but these were matters he wasn't willing to discuss with anyone, not to mention Illyria.

“So...” he started, trying to remain calm on the outside. “I joined the Circle of the Black Thorn and the others decided to fight with me against them?”

Illyria nodded slowly.

“Wesley died during the combat with the warlock,” she said, her eyes leaving the vampire's irises for a brief, single moment. Angel didn't really notice, too caught up in the reality mess he was trying to untangle. “Your lawyer came back into the alley behind your hotel bleeding to death. You and the pet died some hours later.”

This brief summary was enough. Angel now knew everything he had planned in his head happened in this time they were talking about. In _this_ time except it was not _now_ , but _then_.

God, how much he hated such things. He knew he had been the reason of one example of “such a thing”, but it didn't matter. Angel suddenly realized how Wesley had to feel after breaking the Orlon Window. It wasn't pleasant, this feeling of utter lack of any control over their fate and life in general.

It was an awful sensation, the one that could take away every will to continue the fighting.

“Do you even realize what you've done?” Angel could contain his anger no more as it grew stronger with new realizations. He successfully pushed out from his head the thoughts of power and control, focusing this time on the failed plan and how it all went down. How she didn't understand anything, even the basics of “why” and “what for”.

Illyria cocked her head and looked at him with mild surprise.

“Yes, I do. I saved your little, pathetic existences,” she answered without hesitation. “You should be grateful.”

“Whoa! Grateful? Did anyone ask you to save us?” Angel snapped, standing up. It really wasn't pleasant hearing his plan that involved a big risk of death had in fact ended with everyone dying, but if they had agreed on it... they had known what they had been singing up for. Those had been their very own choices, choices to die.

Suppression and denial were working. Fury was everything that was left.

“How could you ask me to do so if you were already dead?” she followed him with her glance as he marched from the window to the wall of his office and back again.

“Of course, because you always need to do as you please, don't you?” he mocked without even looking at her, ignoring what she had just said. Her surprise grew bigger. “Great, all-mighty Illyria wished to keep her toys alive. So what does she do? She doesn't buy some new ones as any other civilized demon would do. She reverts time and changes the reality so the old ones could still be alive!”

She watched him with growing puzzlement. He was too furious to even notice.

“I thought it was in your own best interests to stay alive,” she stated, traces of impatience present in her voice.

“We don't fight for our best interests.” Angel abruptly stopped his march just in front of her. They were now only inches apart. “If our best interests were in our best interests, we wouldn't fight at all. Turn it back.”

The words came just like that. He knew only few things: he had realized his plan; they had agreed to die; and so they had done. It had been a noble fight and noble deaths. The one they deserved. The one they should have gone down with. They had agreed to it and that was exactly like it should have ended, without coming back to where they, where he, had started. No, it was just wrong. He didn't like the idea of them all being dead, of course he didn't, but the fact she had just destroyed their last heroic sacrifice made his blood boil. If any would be pumping in his veins, that was.

It was as someone denied them the price for the fight. Like saying “no rest for the wicked, because you can't even die properly”. He didn't sign up for this.

“I cannot even if I wished to. But I don't.”

He could sense she still didn't get the point of his anger. How could she, when she seemed not aware of an idea of sacrifice?

“So I'll go the same way,” he burst. “I will join the Circle and...” One look at her was enough to realize he was totally powerless. She was above him and, well, although he desperately needed to deny it, she was his master. It was like talking to a wall. “And you will do the same thing, won't you?”

She didn't answer, looking straight at him, or rather through as her blue eyes didn't seem to notice him at all.

“What was this solemn outcome of your death that you are so willing to die again? Nothing was different after the battle. The wolf, the ram and the hart weren't destroyed. The evil that you were so willing to fight against didn't stop plundering your tiny little world, as you hoped for naively.” There was some great contempt in her voice, but he didn't even notice.

“We definitely killed a lot of them.” He didn't need to experience what had happened to know how it had gone. They had had to go down in a blaze of glory, fighting and killing everyone that had been around and happened to be labeled with Wolfram & Hart tag. “Besides, I wasn't hoping for that, you are missing the point,” he added after a moment. He hoped that maybe, maybe if she finally became aware of this “why” and “what for”, she would understand that what she had done was just wrong. And she would not do this again, allowing him to do his job.

“You fight for the people who don't have a single realization of your existence, just because you want to mean something. You hope your struggle to destroy evil will save and protect humans from forces of darkness that desire to steal their souls, so your own would be redeemed,” she answered. “It is your point.”

“That's...” he lost his words. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts and come up with a proper answer that would touch every point she made. “It's not about us or destroying evil completely. We can't destroy them. We also don't need people to realize we fight for them, we fight exactly because they don't have any realization. If they had, they would fight their own battles. But they don't, so they need someone to protect them.” He paused for a second, then ended, “We don't do that so our souls could be redeemed, we do that for the people we swore to save.”

It felt so surreal: explaining the elementary basics of being a hero to the Old One after she had just reverted time to save their lives. Especially considering some silent voice in his head which told him he was in fact lying. They wanted their souls to be saved. Or at least he thought so; he had stopped caring about his own some time ago. He had stopped caring about little cases as well, focusing on the bigger picture, so the original answer - “we do that for the innocent ones, every single one of them” - couldn't leave his throat. _The_ evil and _the_ fight were all that mattered.

A question suddenly struck his mind - why had she done this reversion thing? Why didn't she wish to continue living in the world without them?

“So you believe leaving people in the shadows without any knowledge of their heroes' presence and the price of this protection is a proper thing.”

He had to really focus on her words to follow the ever so surreal discussion.

“It is a proper thing. It protects them from the knowledge they don't want to have. Trust me, I know.” He cast her a quick look. Maybe she finally started catching up. He wasn't so sure, but his brain was divided into talking with her and thinking about the reason she could have had for bringing them back. Was she planing something she needed them to accomplish? Should he start wondering again about the possible way of killing her?

“I don't understand.” And all his hopes for explaining something to her just went up in smoke. “You said you don't attempt to destroy evil. I thought you fight to win, not to fight.”

Angel sighed, seeing they were still going nowhere. But where could they really go if she indirectly informed him he had no power whatsoever over anything? It was pointless; she wasn't willing to understand his point, his anger. She thought she knew better when in fact she knew nothing at all. And no matter how long he would be trying to make her understand, it will end the same way. He goes with his plan – she reverses time again. And so on until they are both powerless because of it.

Meaning until he becomes powerless, of course. Assuming he had any power left to lose.

“And why do you fight?” he asked, knowing what her answer will be like.

“To win and conquer.”

He wasn't surprised.

“Right. You see... we don't. There was no winning in this game. Not for us. And I'm sure we knew that when we decided to fight.”

He wondered if there was a tiny chance of her understanding anything if he would know exactly how everything went. Would it look different? Would he get to her in some way, stop her from doing again what she had just done?

But who was he trying to fool? She was made of a different substance, of a different metal. She would not understand, not even after a whole eternity of explaining.

“So it's just a game with your lives at stake, and you put them on the losing side,” she concluded.

“Yes.” No, that was a bad answer. “No.” He wasn't really sure he knew what he was saying. He was too enraged to think clearly. “I mean... something like that.”

She remained silent for a longer moment, wondering, then spoke again.

“Do you really want to die that much?”

That was an interesting question. The answer was: he didn't care. He didn't care whether he will die or stay alive. He didn't want to see Wes, Gunn or Lorne dead though. That was the difference. He didn't know what it was that she really asked him about.

The moment he started wondering about his feelings concerning his own death was the second some other question came back: what this deprivation of their right to heroic death really meant? That he could never go any similar to the planned road trying to kill as many creatures from Wolfram & Hart's evilness as it was humanly or rather vampirely possible, not only in the nearest future, but never at all?

Emptiness that he had been experiencing for quite a long time started creeping again, stronger than ever before. He couldn't even plan anything that would matter. And if nothing they did mattered, because it could be easily reversed by a caprice the ancient god had... then really nothing they did mattered.

“I don't care about my survival,” he answered finally, his reply surprising Illyria as she looked at him with a question in her eyes. “I don't care about it at all. So what happens now?” he asked, expecting an answer. He really wanted to hear what she would have to say in that matter, because he had no idea what could come next. He couldn't set his plan in motion as Illyria would do everything in her power to turn the time again. It was senseless. But abandoning what he had in mind and coming back to “normal” work in Wolfram & Hart was out of option as well.

Everything was senseless. Angel suddenly felt completely lost, with no option left to pick up, no right path to follow. Moments like this one were those when he missed Cordelia the most. She had always been able to set him on the right track.

“I will murder the members of the circle myself,” Illyria answered without any hesitation.

Angel blinked, his thoughts losing their correct paths once more. He didn't expect such an answer. Actually, he had no idea what exactly he was expecting to hear. Apparently nothing in particular.

“And how are you expecting to do that if even I don't know who the members are?” There was something in her, something like determination so strong that he started wondering again. Why did she so badly wanted to keep them alive? He almost added “bloody” to his thoughts, but stopped himself in the last moment. He wasn't going to turn into Spike, no matter how bad the situation would become.

“Your different version knew and revealed this knowledge to us during the final gathering.”

The “us” part didn't go unnoticed. It was good to know she had been in their team and not against it.

He never knew what he could expect from her, how she would behave. Some relief suddenly arrived – in the end she had been helping them.

Maybe this whole time-turning thing was to help them as well. But why, why?

“I can exterminate them one by one, without encountering a lot of obstacles,” she continued, seeing he wasn't especially willing to answer.

Angel chuckled.

“And what, you think they won't find out? Senior Partners know everything, Illyria, everything.” He knew he sounded like a bitter man, but that was exactly who he was right now. A bitter, disappointed man whose world suddenly became deprived of any certainty, even the one that death represented.

“I hardly believe that's possible. You caught them by surprise exterminating the members of the circle, everyone of them in the exact same time. They didn't know you had it planned in your mind. You fooled them.”

He looked at her silently, considering her words. He had no other choice than to believe her; besides, she had never lied, so why would she do it this time?

If Senior Partner really didn't know what he was planning all the way long until he had truly come to the realization of his plan, then she was right. They didn't possess the knowledge about everything. But still, something as big as time change shouldn't pass without attracting their attention.

“But when...” One look at her was enough to change the word, “...if they find out, they will undo what you've just done. Or drop the whole hell on you. On us.”

“Perhaps.” She didn't seem concerned with it. But, on the other hand, what she had ever been concerned with? “I lost nothing by doing what I've done. I can't see where would be my regret in it. And if they drop the whole hell, I will fight it. With pleasure.”

He had to grant the rightness of her logic. She really hadn't lost anything. They had theoretically gained – they lived again. But in reality Angel felt like he had lost everything he had ever fought for.

Suddenly, an impulse that the world “gain” triggered in his mind pushed him to ask a question he had been trying to answer for the great majority of this discussion.

“And what exactly did you gain, come again?”

It was one brief second when she lost her composure. A fleeting moment, almost as quick as a blink of an eye, but this time he noticed it.

“I pleased you to be alive again. I considered your revival convenient.”

“Right.” He watched her closely. He had never been quick on catching up with feelings that people or demons around him had had, always being the last one to know. He wasn't good with feelings at all, but this short-lived loss of her emotionless facade set his mind on one single track. The possibility of such a solution surprised him, likewise the sheer idea of Illyria possessing any human-like emotions, but everything lately seemed crazy and unpredictable, so now he was able to believe everything and anything.

Nothing seemed impossible. Except for the things they wanted to be possible, that was.

“But why?” he asked slowly, scrutinizing her face. Someone could say it was threading on thin ice, but he had never been in the mood of caring about such a thing, not to mention now. Nothing they did mattered, so why should he bother? “Did you feel...”

She didn't express any emotion, which was predictable, but reacted with a defense. He wasn't even sure she knew she stopped him in the middle of the question, too engaged in her mind's own machinations.

“Don't think you can ever refer to the hypothetical feelings inside me. They are good for you, the weak ones. They are weaknesses. I don't possess them.” He didn't know whether she believed her own words or just pretended to do so. She had never pretended, but on the other hand this situation wasn't like any other before. No one had ever known what to expect from her, maybe except for Wesley. Angel suddenly wished Wes could be here to translate Illyria's words from English she only seemed to speak to English he was used to.

“Sure you don't.”

Her answer that seemed to serve no purpose only made him more certain about his suspicion. She knew what he implied. And if she knew, he was right.

Unbelievable. The ancient god-king not only had feelings, but also cared about them, beings she considered unworthy. He almost smiled, stopping himself in the last moment. Smiling wasn't a good idea, even though it was his own little victory. He cleared his throat instead and came back to the main track of this conversation that suddenly started having a promise of going somewhere.

“So, you want to kill the members of the circle. What then?” He needed a long-distance plan. To keep holding on. To have a reason to fight.

“You can concentrate on the heart of the wolf, the ram and the hart, without losing your lives this time. Plan how to end them.”

He couldn't say what he felt in this one particular moment. He agreed with her on wishing to kill Senior Partners. There was nothing in the world he wanted more. But wishing was one thing, realizing this wish was a completely different matter. He was no Illyria to be able to do everything he pleased. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Besides, hadn't he just told her destroying evil was impossible?

“You really don't like them, do you?” He smirked, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning against the desk.

“They don't deserve the power they possess.” She turned her head, looking at the world beyond the window. “So much potential, so enormous abilities in the hands of worms that once crawled on the surface of this earth, barely above humans. They need to be destroyed.” She looked at him abruptly, emphasizing her words this way. “They are an abomination.”

“I can't agree more with that.” That might have been the first time they shared an opinion. “But breaking news is, it's impossible. You have such a word in your dictionary?”

Her expression turned into something similar to a smirk. She mocked him and it really started to get on his nerves.

“You still misunderstand a lot of things, vampire.” Angel sensed one of her heated monologues on the way. He wasn't mistaken. “You all aspire to great things, yet you burn so quickly. As fragile as the branch of a tree, as easy to break. Your will is nothing but a pennon in the wind, unstable like the nature of the dimension you populate.” She stopped and looked at him with the whole intensity of her blue gaze. “Don't criticize the world like you knew anything about it.”

“Enlighten me, please.” There was clearly perceptible sarcasm in Angel's voice, but he was quite sure she wasn't even familiar with the concept of it.

“You believe in an idea of sacrifice. One life for another, or, as you wished, few lives for many saved ones. You thought you do good for the people you fight for, for this wretched world, by killing the members of the secret society.”

He frowned, but didn't protest. He couldn't argue with her as for now.

“But you were wrong.”

“What a surprise,” he murmured this time, but she didn't seem to notice.

“You refuse to look deeper in fear of failure. You are afraid the solution will be above you, because it would make you even more powerless than you already are. You live with an illusion you hold any power and you fear the loss of it. And this fear is the ultimate reason for your failure.”

“What, are you a psychic now?” He was fed up and irritated with this conversation. Everything with Illyria seemed to begin with power, revolve around it and end with it. But they had already established he was powerless, so why dig into it further? “I'm not fearing failure. I don't look deeper because it's impossible, hence it's useless and a waste of time, my time!” Angel spoke faster with every next word, which indicated his level of annoyance was high.

“Nothing that doesn't exist can be wasted,” she replied simply, continuing her tirade. “Your wishes are futile, because you aren't willing to lose yourselves in them.”

“Wait.” He stopped her with a gesture of his hand, his irritation suddenly transformed into disbelief. Illyria looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “We aren't willing to lose ourselves? We've just lost our freaking lives! What else are we supposed to lose?”

She didn't answer, tilting her head once more.

“Tell me, vampire, what were the steps that you've taken towards the destruction of so-called Senior Partners before you planned the end of the circle?” she asked, staring at him.

Angel opened his mouth to answer her in depth, but found his brain empty. No details, no answer at all. What exactly had he done in that direction?

He honestly didn't know.

Illyria's own kind of smirk appeared on her face once again. It was her little victory this time.

“Nothing is constant in this world or any other. Everything changes. If you, lower beings with your uncomplicated desires, wish your mission to be accomplished, you need to truly want it. Once upon a time you thought you could conquer this world. In one way you realized this wish. In the other, you still only dream about succeeding, because you will never be the true rulers. But it is enough for the majority of your people. The position you got, which is already far too high for you, seems enough for them. They made their wish come true. Do you see the conclusion?”

Angel tried to follow her way of thinking, but it was difficult, practically impossible.

“No,” he murmured after a while of fruitless wondering.

“The conclusion is simple,” she continued, for a brief second looking disappointed with him. “The things that are, as you called them, impossible, are only the matter of perspective. Your wishes can be fulfilled with proper approach, in this case with my assistance,” she finished finally and waited for his reaction or rather consent, as he realized after a while.

He wasn't sure what he should think. Illyria, the one who had killed them all not so long ago, was now offering him her assistance. Moreover, she was _asking_ whether he will accept her help. He couldn't say he understood even a half of it. What were her motives? Could simple caring be enough to invoke such a change in attitude? Or maybe she just wanted to fight and believed she needed his team to exterminate Senior Partners in order to take their place and have their power?

He didn't know. But she truly could be an asset of an enormous value. He couldn't turn such an offer down, especially considering there had been times when he had wished to have her in his team. Besides, he probably didn't have much of a choice either.

“Fine,” he gave up. He had nothing left to lose, nothing left to prove, so what could possibly stop him from making a deal with yet another devil? “I will talk with Wes about...”

“No,” she stopped him so abruptly he frowned.

“No?” he repeated, looking at Illyria with surprise. She contained herself this time, but he could tell she was close to losing her composure again. Could this situation be any stranger?

“You shall not tell him,” she said firmly.

“Why not?” One simple answer and his brain wouldn't feel so drastically overloaded. One simple answer, that was all he asked for.

“Because that's my wish.” But apparently, he wasn't going to get it. He sighed and covered his eyes with his hand in a weary gesture. As always, he was left alone with decisions. Why was he even surprised?

“You're unbelievable,” he uttered, this whole discussion weighing on him with enormous tiredness. For a brief moment he wanted to rebel, to affirm her he will tell everyone about everything. She wasn't his boss, he had no itch to do what she wished. But he decided he would think about it later, when she will finally be out of his sight.

“It's not the word I would use to describe myself. In my days of glory I had followers, the amount of them too tremendous for your limited brain to comprehend. They believed in me,” she answered immediately. Angel lifted his head and looked at her with a mix of annoyance and amusement. She was a peculiar creature, sometimes understanding things she shouldn't have thanks to Fred's memories that she possessed, while usually seeming as detached from this world as it was only possible.

“It's just a saying,” he explained wearily.

“I know. I am not especially fond of humans' sayings,” she replied. Angel sighed again. Enough of this.

“Never mind,” he murmured. “Something else you want to get off your chest?”

“I wish to train more to be physically stronger in this body I'm bound to.” As always, it sounded more like a demand than a wish. It could be a dangerous request. Now, when she was so sure she was fighting on their side, the stronger she was the better for them. But if she would ever change her mind, they won't stand a chance against her.

On the other hand, they had never stood any chance against her, not even after her strength had been reduced. Again, nothing to lose.

“As long as you promise not to kill anyone and to torture Spike a lot, then yeah, sure.” The idea of bleeding Spike seemed like the only appealing one that derived from this discussion.

“I need to be stronger than the liaison. I have to beat him if... when he attacks again,” Illyria continued, her gaze focused on the window once more. Angel could sense the traces of shame and humiliation in her aura. He frowned.

“The liaison?” Hamilton beat the Old One? That was bad, bad news. Angel had suspected Hamilton was strong, but not as much as to overpower Illyria.

“He was stronger than me in a different side of reality. He beat me. I cannot let it happen again.” It definitely was shame. She felt humiliated by the fact someone was able to beat her, not to mention the awareness this someone was the hand of the firm she so deeply detested.

“You mean Hamilton.” Angel needed clarification, just to be sure.

“Yes.” She looked at him with anger clearly visible in her eyes, then let her gaze contemplate the walls while she got in touch with her deeply destructive instincts. “I wish to hear him scream. Pull his insides out while he's still alive. Take his scalp as a trophy. Transform his whole being into blood and ash. Make a...”

“Thank you, I got the picture.” Angel stopped her in the middle of the sentence. She looked at him enraged, but he didn't let her continue, speaking first. “And I'm more than willing to let you perform all these activities.”

“I don't need your allowance,” she spat with disgust. He almost forgot she was only informing him, not asking.

“Yes, unfortunately I know. Something else?”

She was staring at him for quite a while, then, when her anger dispersed a little, spoke again.

“I believe it is everything I wanted you to know.”

“Good.” Finally.

Illyria cast him a last look, then turned and headed towards the door. Angel watched her until she was already on the threshold.

“I would like you to inform me before you do anything as spectacular as time change,” he added suddenly. She stopped, but didn't turn around.

“You don't have to worry about it.” One more step and she was almost out of his office. Angel could swear he caught the glimpse of a real smirk on her face. “I won't.”

The door slummed shut behind her leaving Angel alone with his thoughts and the knowledge she will never inform him about anything she wouldn't like him to know.

Which probably meant anything at all.

Lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t intend to write such a long scene, but it kinda wrote itself. Hope I didn’t bore you to death…


	3. The Truth I Must Hide, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just forgotten everything I wanted to say. Nevermind. This one's the shortest so far, I think. If you read - please, leave me some feedback!  
> Most importantly - enjoy!

Illyria stood in the corridor next to the flight of stairs, watching them from afar. Her pet and the one who wasn't unpleasant for her eyes for the reasons she did not understand. They were talking in serious voices, then laughed.

It pleased her to see them alive. The world just started to be a little bit more satisfying place.

She didn't stay there long. There was a call that cried to her from the room located not far away from the place she was standing in. Her body strangely wished to go there, only her mind did its best to protest. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore this call, it was still coming back, louder and louder every single time.

She reluctantly turned her head toward that direction. It seemed logical to return there now as she had told herself she would consider everything Wesley-related “later”. Apparently, “later” just came.

Besides, she thought that seeing him again, alive and well – as well as he could be, at least – would finally erase the scene of his death from her mind, allowing her to picture him in a less-than-dead state whenever her thoughts stumble upon him. Moreover, she hoped that the meeting would reduce the number of areas in her brain the worry of his well-being occupied. It was unnatural to care at all, not to mention that much. It had to change.

The sooner, the better.

 

***

 

As always, he sensed her presence the moment she stepped onto the threshold of his office, but he didn't let it be known, not even bothering to look at her. She hadn't seemed fully herself an hour or so ago, when she had made her first visit this day; maybe it should call for his attention. Who knew what she would be capable of in a strangely agitated state. But he wasn't able to force himself to look at her for more than it was necessary, when it was necessary. Every glance at her, every single glimpse meant drowning into the ocean of contempt, anger and pain his heart experienced, the one he was sure one day he won't be able to swim back from. He didn't hate her now; he couldn't, for the reasons he didn't fully comprehend. But in this very moment he detested her with all his might.

“You are planning on ignoring my presence because I assumed the shape of the Burkle person?” Her voice was steady and cold, as usual, but something in it made him lift his head and cast her a quick look. But he had to use a lot of his strength to prolong this glance.

She didn't move from the threshold even an inch, standing there and piercing him with her icy eyes.

“Yes, probably,” he answered finally, shifting his attention back to the books on his desk. The only wish he had now was for her to be as far away as it was possible.

“I shall not transform into her again if it repulses you so much.”

This time it wasn't the slight change of tone alone, but the meaning behind the words as well that made him look at her again. Her face was exactly the same as always; the diversion lay in her voice and speech. It didn't contain the confusion she had seemed to express an hour ago. If he didn't know better, he would say it had a trace of humility in it.

But that was simply impossible. Just a thought of such nonsense was highly ridiculous and invoking empty laugh. He wasn't in the the mood for laughing though for quite a long time now.

“It would be appreciated,” he said, not taking his eyes off of her this time. She nodded slowly.

Illyria, the one who didn't bend to anyone's wishes but her own, had just made a statement that suggested caring about what he felt. Moreover, her words sounded like some unique way of an apology or an attempt to regain his attention. It was more than odd.

Although this change might seem barely on the border of being noticeable for someone who didn't know her as much as he did, for him something was strikingly different. The way she looked at him for example – her gaze was so intense and focused, like she wanted to engrave the picture of him into her mind.

“Are you...” he started mechanically, but didn't even know how to end it and what exactly he wanted to ask. “Fine” would surely get stuck in his throat. Fortunately, she didn't give him a chance to finish the question.

“I shall leave you in your solitude, then,” she said, but kept standing in the same spot.

He nodded once as the confirmation that he heard what she said. There was no possibility he would be willing to object to her leaving, to keep her here. She seemed to know that as she turned on her heel and walked away without looking back.

His eyes didn't leave the door that shut behind her for a longer moment. Everything in this meeting was peculiar. From the apparently different than usual state of mind she exhibited to the meaning of her words. First, she had seemed to simply check on him, make sure he was alive. That indicated a certain level of caring, extended enough for her to be interested in his well-being. Second, she had promised to refrain from turning into Fred, which meant she respected his wishes to some point.

She definitely didn't seem to be the same creature he had seen a day ago, playing with his emotions without any mercy over his tortured soul. Something changed. But he wasn't even sure he cared enough to find out what exactly.

He didn't need her anymore. She had crossed the line, the line they could never come back from. This power of hers that had been so recently exposed to him with all its brutality turned out to be the ultimate push towards the end of whatever fake teacher-student relationship they had ever had. He had enough of her.

He decided he will talk to Spike about transferring his responsibilities concerning Illyria to the vampire. Although he didn't really trust Spike, the vampire seemed to be the only other person she had ever got in touch with and, oddly enough, he seemed to enjoy her company, even when it meant being beaten until he bled.

But for now, Wesley had more important things to be bothered with than strangely unstable ancient God-King. Like the silent apocalypse no one seemed to be really interested in. Like the study on Senior Partners and their methods. In conclusion, like his own suicide mission.

 

***

 

Angel had tons of questions in his head and not even a single idea for the answers. Thoughts rushing through his mind were changing in an instant, reverting and transforming into their opposites just to come back to the state they were in before seconds later.

The last day of his beloved woman's life – or in fact the first day of her afterlife – was an important topic in this stream. The visions Doyle and Cordy had got from Powers That Be had always been truthful. The Powers might have been a bunch of arrogant selfish assholes with outgrown egos, but they didn't resort to lying. Current situation changed a lot.

What Cordy's last gift could mean now? That it was all senseless and the visions had never really mattered, the Powers changing the reality the way they pleased? That time reversion wasn't bound to happen and it took Powers That Be by surprise? Or maybe that the forces responsible for Illyria's spell were bigger than the Powers and they simply couldn't have predicted it?

Illyria seemed to believe he could just let it go. Forget what he was going to do and just move on, changing his plans. But it wasn't going to be like that. He couldn't forget. He was far too deep into this mess to let it go so easily. He understood why she had felt forced to tell him about everything that had happened: if she hadn't, nothing would change. But if she thought he could get past it, she was wrong.

He got tired of all this thinking. Nothing had been clear or simple before, but now everything seemed to be one big tangled mess that was just dragging him deeper and deeper into the not-caring state of darkness. He was tired of fighting against everything and everyone around him, against the whole world, especially that he mostly had to do it all by himself.

He sighed and finally stood up from his chair. Deciding to temporarily ignore the answers to the questions not even asked, he focused on the other thing: a strong urge to confirm some facts. Not that he didn't believe in Illyria's blunt honesty; he just had to see his people alive with his own pair of eyes. Technically, he had never experienced their deaths. In reality, the recent revelations felt like he already lost them all.

He didn't have to wonder what his first step would be – his legs followed him to Wesley's door. Angel stopped before entering, feeling awkwardness growing inside him. He needed time to think about possible ways of checking on Wes without seeming suspicious. After few minutes and with a still empty brain he gave up, entering the office.

Wesley was sitting at his desk, busy with his usual paper work. What was more important – he was alive. He lifted his head hearing the door open and looked at Angel.

“Hi,” Angel stammered, feeling the emptiness in his brain starting to take control over his mouth. Awkwardness just expanded. “Just wanted to check if you're... all right.”

“All right?” Wesley's eyebrows moved higher. Angel tried his best to marginalize his next words.

“You know... alive and so on.” He chuckled and waved his hand. He felt stupid, uncomfortable with the situation, but he couldn't contain emotions that suddenly overwhelmed him. It was joy, joy from the fact his once-a-best-friend was alive. He forgot what it was like to experience happiness. It was awkward to find it now, still existing somewhere, normally beyond his reach, suddenly in his possession.

Wesley sighed, put down his pen and stood up.

“Why is everyone asking me that today?” He circled his desk and leaned his back against its front edge, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did I die and come back to life without any knowledge of ever doing it?”

“What?” Angel uttered a short laugh and faked a surprised facial expression. “Of course not, it would be ridiculous!”

Wesley watched him silently for a few seconds during which Angel felt like he was a questioned felon during a trial. He didn't like the feeling, but on the other hand he didn't mind it, considering the happy circumstances. He guessed the “everyone” part must have concerned Illyria. Maybe the use of the word “alive” wasn't such a good idea.

“What's going on, Angel?” Wesley's voice was perfectly calm, but somehow Angel felt oddly uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

“Illyria reverted time. There was... is a secret society called The Circle of the Black Thorn. We exterminated all members and... kinda died in the end. She didn't like it, so she found someone to turn back time. And now we're alive again, that's why I was asking, you know?”

Angel really wanted to say all those things. But he said none. He couldn't. He couldn't tell Wesley the truth, not because Illyria had told him not to – he really didn't care about Illyria's bidding - but for the bunch of other reasons. He hated the fact he had to lie – again - to someone who, after Cordy's death, was the closest person to a family he had, but it was a necessity. He couldn't tell Wes the truth, for Wesley's own sake.

“Angel?”

Angel lifted his head, suddenly aware that he probably spent the last few seconds picturing the reveal of the truth in his mind. Great, just great, it definitely didn't seem suspicious at all.

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat, his unbeating heart suddenly filled with nothing but gratitude that Illyria had returned them to life. He was still infuriated with it and her in general, but something changed. The knowledge that in another timeline they lost everything including their lives invoked a feeling in him beside joy, a feeling he thought had been destroyed somewhere around Fred's death. And that was real, strong caring. Compassion. Sympathy. All the emotions he had once had in their fullest when they all had been a real family, _before_. Thanks to Illyria's deed they received yet one more chance to rebuild some things that were badly, almost irreparably broken. He felt a need to make them right.

If there was any chance to rebuild anything, that was. If there was this “almost”. Hope that awakened few minutes ago, hidden deep inside Angel's soul, whispered to him they didn't cross the ultimate line.

“You're hiding something again, aren't you?” Wesley asked, his eyes focused on Angel's face.

Angel tried to laugh it off.

“No, are you kidding?”

Wesley didn't even blink. Angel's expression faltered. He should have known he wouldn't be able to fool Wes, even if he didn't behave as bizarrely as he did. Not now, not after everything they had gone through together. They had known each other too well. Or, to be more specific, Wesley had known Angel too well and was much too clever to be deceived again.

“Okay.” Angel gave up. “Yes, I am. But I believe it'll be better to keep it hidden.” He dropped the act and looked at Wesley expectantly.

The former Watcher didn't seem surprised. That wasn't a sign that promised the repair of their shattered relationship.

“What is it this time? What did you do?” There was no interest in his voice nor any accusation. Just simple questions, maybe originating from the remnants of the curiosity that were slowly burning out in him. Angel didn't know. The truth was, he sometimes felt like he didn't know Wes at all since Fred had died.

It had been the moment that had changed everything. Maybe now they reached the second one.

“Me? Not everything that's happening is always my fault!” Angel's voice was filled with indignation. Wesley didn't react. “Well, many things are, but...” Angel felt like he was losing track. He cleared his throat again and straightened, trying to regain any control over this so-called discussion.

This day seemed strangely filled with “so-called” discussions. He really hoped it was the last one of them.

“That's not the point,” he stated, trying to explain something without really explaining anything. “It's not my fault. Not this time. Just... it's for your benefit not to know.”

He really believed so. The man standing in front of him already seemed broken beyond the point of any possible repair, deprived of any will to live on. There was no saying what would the information about dying in a combat with Cyvus Veil and being brought back by Illyria - who cared for them all without any reasonable explanation - do to his already deeply unstable mental state. It could do no harm; it could improve his condition; or, in the contrary, draw him further into the embrace of madness. Angel didn't know which option would turn out to be right. He wasn't willing to take the risk.

It really was for Wes' benefit not to know.

The explanation apparently didn't seem enough as Wesley snorted and shook his head with a smile that, for the best of Angel's knowledge, expressed something in a way of “you're unbelievable”.

“Just like it was for our benefits not to know about Connor?” Wesley asked, once again crossing glances with Angel. “You aren't the one to decide what we should or shouldn't know.”

“I...” Angel stammered, but then changed his way of speaking. The decision he had made about Connor was the one he could defend until his dying day. He had wanted to give his child a better life and that was exactly what he had done. He wasn't going to apologize for that, not in this existence or any other. “Look, I know we never really had this conversation and we should probably have it, but it's not the time or the place for doing it. It's different now, a hell lot different. You have to trust me, this time you really are better not knowing.”

He realized it was a bad choice of words when Wesley uttered a short laugh that had no warmth in it whatsoever.

“Trust you? You really have the nerve of demanding the trust from me now, after everything we both did?” He looked at the vampire with serious resentment. Angel backed down.

“I don't demand the trust, I'm just asking you to have at least a little faith in me,” he corrected himself. “Can't you... Can't we at least try to trust each other despite everything that's happened between us?” He stressed “despite” and looked at Wesley with flicker of hope in his eyes. He really had faith they could go back, even if it would be a single step.

“I believe we've gone far beyond any possible trust,” Wesley answered, his voice once again calm and almost emotionless. Angel was suddenly struck with absurdity of their current situation. When the ancient god who hadn't felt at all received the ability of caring while once full of positive emotions human being was becoming more and more empty, something was seriously wrong. Like they did some exchange or something. It just didn't fit.

“Would you at least give me a benefit of doubt?” Angel asked, trying to force something smile-like onto his lips. It was a difficult task – he had spent far too long time not smiling at all. But somehow his hope concerning his friendship with Wes had been in fact never really dead, only asleep, fueling the smile. The beast was strong.

Wesley didn't respond for quite a long time, simply looking at the vampire. Angel wished he knew what was going on in the ex-Watcher's head.

“I can try,” Wesley finally said, moving his gaze on the door. It was a clear indication this conversation was over, but Angel didn't mind the “get out” sign. He received his benefit of doubt, so he just nodded, turned around and left.

Somehow his conscience seemed satisfied. He was still hiding the truth, but this fact became known to Wesley and it changed everything. It wasn't the freedom Angel wished to experience as this kind of freedom could never be in his reach ever again, but it was enough, at least for now.

For now. What will happen when it won't be enough anymore?

As with any other question he was asking himself on this weird day, the answer to this one was the big unknown as well.

He then went to check on the others, this time only visually to avoid any unnecessary words. Gunn was in the corridor talking with Lorne. Angel even stumbled on Spike when he continued to wander through the corridors for some reasons that were hidden from his own mind, convincing himself it was totally by accident, although his subconsciousness didn't fully agree with such a belief.

They were all alive. Now he just had to come up with a plan that will keep them in this state in the same time really doing something and not only pretending, as he had seemed to do for almost the whole last year.

Maybe he owed them that. Fighting for their souls, taking them away from the path of the total destruction. Maybe it was his responsibility as a champion. If he still was one, which he seriously doubted lately.

He didn't know what future will give to them. Illyria was planning to murder the members of the Circle; it was a good thing, but could end tragically for them all, just like it had happened before. Or maybe Senior Partners would concentrate their efforts on her alone. Hopefully her actions will free the child he had already given to demons. But he didn't know. Nevertheless, he had to take some actions, actions different from the ones he had ever taken. Whatever he thought had been right or wrong before, whatever he had believed should or should not happen, didn't matter now. The game had changed, and so had its rules.

 

***

 

Wesley remained in the same position, half-standing, half-sitting on his desk, his eyes focused on the door that had slammed before Angel a minute ago. He found it remarkable that lying to Angel was so easy now, not inducing any single sting of guilt. He had probably crossed the line of caring about it during the last lie.

From the over-extensive use of the word “alive” that had come from Illyria and Angel, he could assume two possible options: he either had been dead for some time and returned to the world of the living or had found himself in some dangerous situation that could result with his death. He strongly suspected the first option. He had died, one way or another. And one of them – or both – had done something to bring him back. It could have been a change of time or modification of reality; resurrection spell was too rare to come by, besides in most cases of it resurrected ones remembered being dead. Considering Angel's previous experience with transforming the history, Wesley doubted the vampire would go the same road again, fully aware of the prices that stood behind such a magic. It seemed that time reversion was the winner.

He didn't believe his death could be a sole reason for resorting to such a means; something solemn had had to happen. Important event that had needed to be reverted like some dreadful prophecy not prevented from fulfilling, a fight going wrong or a chain of incidents leading to yet another apocalypse. In another words - an enormous failure of them all. Possibly his coming back to life was just a side effect of the spell. Or maybe rather a side curse, because for him the inability to end this existence he was trapped in would be nothing but a nightmare coming true. Especially considering the fact there were moments when he was acknowledging this end was what he desired the most: leaving this damned world that had nothing to offer him anymore. Not a single shot at happiness, not a flicker of something good. There was no another chance for him to take. And even if there was, he wasn't sure he would take it. He didn't want another chance, he wanted the one he had so helplessly lost. Besides, what was the point in having another chance if every single one of the chances he had received always ended in the same way? In a grave, literal and symbolical one. Every single one of them had ended up buried deep into the ground, alongside his own bleeding heart pieces by pieces cut from his chest and put into eternal rest that was everything but rest.

Breaking away from his morbid reverie, he came back to thinking about the strange case of this day. Beside the question “why”, there was also a matter of “who”. It befitted Angel more, because a deed like that demanded a high level of caring for the world, people and the dead, level he would never give Illyria a credit for.

He could present this process to Angel and demand an answer that he would certainly get: if not from the vampire's words, than from facial expression or the emotions hiding in the eyes. Basic question was: what for? He didn't have any interest whatsoever in finding out what was wrong with this reality again. Everything was wrong, so where was the sense in trying to deduct whatever new crack it had received?

There was a silent cry deep down that called to him repeatedly, demanding recognition: what if it was about Fred?

But there were also a few reasons that stood for ignoring that voice and they were the one to prevail.

First, he somehow knew it wasn't about Fred. Maybe he had already got his lesson from the situation with the Orlon Window. It hadn't been about Fred that time, it won't be any other. He knew that. Second, even though he wasn't willing to give Angel any benefit of doubt, because they no longer were into the reach of any possibility their trust could ever be rebuilt, the rational side of his mind told him Angel would never hurt Fred. The vampire held her dear in his heart. Angel had traded his friends' memories for Connor's better life, yes, but no one had got hurt directly because of what he had done. Third reason was the most important one and that was hope, or rather the lack of it. Wesley didn't have any kind of hope anymore. Hope for Fred's return. Hope for life being at least a little bit more liveable than it was now. Hope that he could somehow live on, even though it would never be existence he wanted.

The last remnants of hope had died quite recently. Their agony had started by breaking the Orlon Window and ended with Illyria taking the shape of Fred. Now hope was dead and gone. Just like he was inside. The only living thing that he was left with was pain and nothing more. It was the creature with its own fascinating life full of torture, despair and heart-breaking cruelty.

The new change in reality wasn't even interesting. Selecting the most probable facts from his suspicions didn't indicate caring, it was simply separating the truth from illusions in the world full of them. They lived in a universe of deceit where reality was nothing more but an empty word. It changed constantly not thanks to time passing steadily, but with spells that were so common the term “reality” lost its meaning. Maybe it had never had any meaning and he just had been too blind to see it before. Maybe nothing had ever been real. Still, he simply needed to know what he was standing on right now. And he constantly denied to believe in illusions. He denied to believe in anything, to be more exact. Disbelief was the only companion to his pain. He believed in nothing at all.

He was truly empty.

The only topic he still cared about concerned the innocent people who had no idea what a terrible demonic mayhem their world was. They deserved caring and protection. For them he had to keep going, in a more or less alive state, to continue the work he had been doing so far. There was no other reason.

 

It was dark already when he finally rose from his position and circled his desk to come back to his abandoned work. One look at the papers and he knew he was done for today. He needed a drink in a place that was definitely not his office.

Without second thoughts he just shut off the lights and left the room, letting the darkness take over. The literal one, this time.

 

***

 

She stood on the pavement watching the windows that belonged to his office. She stood there without any movement until the lights suddenly burnt out and there was nothing more to be seen through the glass except for darkness. Then she turned around and headed to accomplish the first mission from her list.

 


End file.
